


Codex Entry: Ruminations of a Templar

by Amethyst97Skye



Series: Dragon Age One-Shots [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Diary/Journal, Drug Withdrawal, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Suicide, No Plot/Plotless, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Red Lyrium
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 12:15:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8979268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amethyst97Skye/pseuds/Amethyst97Skye
Summary: Several tattered blood, tear and sweat-stained pages were recovered from the body of a dead Templar, corrupted by Red Lyrium, in Therinfal Redoubt. It appears that they committed suicide. Their identity was indistinguishable.
The entries have been widely annotated by a heavy, shaking hand. A note, written in an authoritative script, has been clipped to the back of the last entry.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Implied drug abuse, addiction and suicide. I do not take these matters lightly.

I **do not** know if you will ever read this. A part of me never wants to you. And yet...if you are ever to understand, you have to, whether I want you to or not.

But my opinion has never really mattered. There have been moments, breaks in the clouding illusion that swarms around our heads and invades our lungs, drowning us with every breath we take. I look back on those moments and sense anger, annoyance and exasperation.

At times, concern has risen to the surface like a bloated dead body, the eyes open and staring, lost and alone. But the matter is entirely avoided, the underlying concern ignore until **it has** been  ripped apart by the animals that inhabit the world. There is no mortality in their eyes, no warmth in their heart. There is no evidence, so there **is not** a victim, killer or crime. Just concern, that underlying concern that never really goes away.

Those eyes still stare, devoid of life, love, hope and happiness. This is part of life, but it becomes nothing more than a faded memory, a dream, a nightmare...an illusion.

* * *

Voices echo as life drones on.

**There is** no rhyme or reason and the illusion returns, cuddled by that underlying concern.  No one notices. No one cares. No one speaks, but the voices still echo endlessly.

Seasons pass and the silence hangs, watching, waiting, wondering. The head lols, the body dangling as it sways back and forth in the mid-summer breeze. A caring warmth that can no longer be felt.

A crack and snap, and still the silence hangs, dead and pale, lost and alone as the **voice** still echoes. Endlessly.

* * *

White and soft, a faux purity held in high esteem by the ever changing audience.

Blow after blow, death after death and life after life, the most notorious mass murderers walk free. Exchange the hammer for the axe, the tiles for cobblestones, and the purity for despair. Be honest. **Do not**  offer false hope. We all wear the Black Hoods of Death, and every day - with every breath - they grow tighter.

The fabric coils like the tendrils of a snake, its muscles constricting around its unsuspecting prey. But some **See**. First and foremost, last and forever, they **See**. It is all they **See**. Everyone knows, but no one cares. Not until they **See**.

My vision is foggy and murky. What I **See** is wrong.

**I am** submerged within and **do not** yet know what **I will** **See** , even if I am never to **See** again.

**I am corrupted. I cannot be cured.**

* * *

You sit in a cave and read the stories on the walls, the paint luscious red, snow white and black as night. You feel the pain and sorrow. You hear the cries and howls. As a man among animals, what do you do?

You hide and find the forgotten, worn chapter left behind by melting tears and stone cold hearts of dead men. You gnaw at the bones, peeling off the rotting flesh to find the pure white you sorely miss and are desperate to reminisce.

You feast on worms and slugs and beastly bugs until you are full of your forgotten misery. **The nightmares never go away** , the past an **echo of voices urging you** to address your underlying concern.

**I am no longer concerned. I will be free.**

Join me.

**Please.**

* * *

* * *

**\- Lack of connectives**

**\- Romanticism?**

**\- Use of Metaphors**

**\- Headaches, nightmares, visions, voices = withdrawal symptoms?**

_All following observations are indecipherable._

* * *

* * *

Cullen, Leliana's been looking for these. She hopes to track down their family. If you have any information, please, let me know. This can stay between us. H.O.D.

P.S. Do you want me to check out their possessions? They may prove insightful. What the Nightingale doesn't know won't hurt us.


End file.
